Blood
by RazMaKaz
Summary: Post-BDABR. "...for the Winchesters, nothing was more important than blood. Nothing rated higher than family." Limp!Sam


"Blood"

By Avin Winter

Summary: Post- BDABR. "…for the Winchesters, nothing was more important than blood. Nothing rated higher than family."

Warnings: Blood, angst, snarky comments and a little swearing.

Disclaimer: Don't own then. Just abuse them.

"Here, give 'im these," Bobby said, handing Dean two blue pills and a glass of water. Dean accepted them and nodded silently. "I'll be there in a second, just let me get my kit."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, turning around and walking out into the living room of Bobby's old house. Sam was sitting hunched over his knees, clutching his shoulder tightly. He was staring off into space when Dean approached him, holding out the pills and the glass of water for him to take. Sam took the proffered pills with his free hand, then tilted his head toward the end table.

Dean leaned over and put the glass down on the worn wood next to Sam, then plopped down in a nearbye armchair. He bowed forward, clasping his hands in front of him, mirroring Sam's posture.

"Bobby'll fix you up," he said softly, looking over as his brother popped the pills into his mouth. Dean quickly reached over and grabbed the glass, handing it to his brother.

"This sucks," Sam whined slightly between gulps of water.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Dean snorted.

"At least you didn't get shot," Sam said, furrowing his brow in, what seemed like, accusation.

"Yeah, well…" Dean sighed, shaking his head. "We're back in the hole a couple grand because of that bitch."

Sam nodded slowly, distracted, and leaned back into the sofa, his hand still tightly clutched over his shoulder. He closed his eyes for a minute and tried to focus on something else. But, the truth was, that never really worked. The throb and ache that filled his shoulder was all he could think of.

"She really worked one over good on you two," Bobby asked rhetorically, seeming to suddenly materialize in Sam's vision as he opened his eyes. Dean came over and quickly helped Bobby take Sam's hand, pulling it away from the wound. Sam snapped his eyes shut and ground his molars together, feeling the skin pull and the dried blood crack.

His jacket was whisked away with cold, medical precision and Dean quickly pulled the shirt over his shoulder to expose the bullet wound. Sam stole a glance at his brother and saw worry cross his forehead while he worked. His lips had become a hard line in an obvious show of stoicism, but it was clear that Dean was probably having just about as much fun as Sam at this point. He knew Dean hated seeing him in pain. It was the very nature of their relationship as brothers; you don't let your blood get hurt. That was just how it was.

"This is gonna hurt, son," Bobby admitted, crouching and uncapping a bottle, putting it on the floor beside Sam's feet. Sam nodded and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, breathing through his nose. Dean retook his seat in the armchair and sat back to wait for Bobby to be finished. Sam knew before looking that the worry was still there; still etched into his brother's eyes. Sam knew he was far more angry at Bella and that, right now, all he really wanted to do was hunt her down and put a bullet in her face. She shot his brother and stole his money: Dean had maimed for less.

"If you ask me, you boys got pretty damn lucky," Bobby said as he worked quickly to patch Sam together. Dean snorted slightly and shook his head, steepling his fingers on his temple. The irony in the statement was almost funny, or it would have been, if Sam and Bobby weren't covered in a thin layer of Sam's blood.

"You know what I mean," Bobby continued, looking pointedly at Sam. "You're lucky Bela didn't outright kill you."

"She wouldn't have done that," Sam said quietly, the drugs obviously taking effect.

"Why not? She's got plenty of reason," Bobby said as he picked up a pair of forceps. "Besides, you two have been nothing but a pain in her ass."

"Yeah, well," Dean said thoughtfully. "She just doesn't seem like the type. If she wanted us dead, she would'a ventilated us when she had the chance." Dean glanced at Sam, who groaned in pain. Dean could sympathize; Bobby wasn't always gentle.

Bobby shrugged, probing the edges of Sam's gunshot wound. He'd managed to take the bullet out with little effort, but it was obvious that the collarbone was the reason there was no exit wound. He would be sore for a while because of it.

"Well, at least the rabbit foot's out of the picture." Bobby reassured the room. "And Bela's probably halfway around the world by now."

"Lucky bitch. Otherwise I'd kill her," Dean muttered wistfully, shifting in his chair. Bobby sighed and shook his head.

"Ain't nobody killin' nobody," he said, as if he'd said it a hundred times. Dean sighed and stood up, heading toward the 'fridge. "You two should just relax for a little bit anyway. Kubrick and Creedie are taken care of and Gordon's locked up like a rat in a cage."

Dean heard the unspoken part of what Bobby had said. He knew Bobby meant for Dean to let Sam rest, let him heal up and not to rush him out the door. Bobby knew all about Gordon's continued attempts to kill Sam. Gordon full on believed that Sam was the anti-Christ and would do anything to have his head delivered to him like the Sunday paper. Sam seemed to constantly be in the line of fire these days and it was probably taking its toll. Dean knew he'd be smart to let Sam have a breather.

"Gordon's probably got more people like Kubrick after me. Doesn't seem like being in jail really slows him down." Sam worried softly, as if he had been listening in on Dean's thoughts. His eyes were still closed and his head was tilted back against the top of the sofa.

"Don't worry about that," Dean said suddenly, coming back from the kitchen with a beer. He popped the top and tossed it onto the end table next to Sam's empty water glass. Sam looked up, his eyes heavy. "You're gonna get your strength back first, then we'll see where we're at." He tipped the beer bottle in his brother's direction.

"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said, his voice heavy. Dean gave him a hard look and shook his head.

"Not a discussion, Sammy," he said with a shrug.

"But—" Sam tried.

"Gordon can wait," He said, by way of explanation. "And so can Bela." Sam looked almost annoyed, but sighed and closed his eyes again. Bobby stood up from his crouch on the floor, his knees cracking in protest, and took the medical supplies back into the kitchen. He returned with a beer and took a long pull before giving Dean a sidelong look and leaning against the living room door frame. It wasn't hard to tell that Bobby was glad that Dean had finally grown some sense. He knew that Dean was antsy to get moving again; afraid that another one of Gordon's people might show up with a .45 and a grudge, but some things were more important than everything else.

And for the Winchesters, nothing was more important than blood. Nothing rated higher than family. And right now, his family needed to take a breather. Even Dean had to admit, he was running on fumes.

As Dean drained his beer, he walked over and gave Sam a tap on the knee with the bottom of his bottle.

"You okay?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Sam said, shifting slightly to try and ease the pain and ache in his shoulder.

"Get some sleep," Dean suggested. "I'll wake you up when we're about to head out."

Sam nodded slightly, his eyes already sliding shut. Dean sighed and sat back down in the armchair he'd been occupying and leaned his head back, mirroring his brother's pose. Before he knew it, his eyelids were growing heavy and he could do nothing but give into the long-deferred notion of sleep.

His family was safe and taken care of. At least for now.


End file.
